


Purple Horse in a Coffee Shop

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Asexual Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Coffee Shops, Colorblindness, Crack, Fluff, Horses, Illustrated, Oneshot, Other, Pansexual Sam, Pride, Pride Parades, Prince Dean, Wizard Castiel, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Nobody expects to see a purple horse at a Pride parade. So, naturally, Dean Winchester is surprised to meet his office co-worker and long-term crush, Castiel, riding atop a magnificent steed - and dressed in full wizard regalia, no less. Somehow, Cas thinks he (and his decked-out horse) are wearing grey. They visit a coffee shop with their friends and family, trying to get to the bottom of this mix-up - and apparently the purple horse is coming too.“One medium black coffee with two sugars; one macchiato; three small soy lattes; one large decaf with a caramel shot - and ten apples, please.”





	Purple Horse in a Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [Amara](http://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/) and [Libby](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) for betaing this for me! I spent most of this month's energy on my upcoming [DCBB](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com/) fic, so they tended to this scrap of a thing until it was New and Improved. ♥  
> I hope you enjoy it~!

Certain extravagances were to be expected at a Pride parade. People wore colourful things, maybe forty percent of which counted as real clothing. Dean Winchester expected lots of shouting. Lots of _energy_. When he showed up in the city that Sunday, yes, Dean found the bright, shouting energy he expected – but then?

Then, Dean found something a bit more, let’s say... marvellous.

The tweets of hundreds of plastic whistles and the _tuppitty-tuppity-domp_ of the marching band played the crowd along, dancing. Cheers and shouts and whoops leapt from every part of the city street, the sounds of celebration rising from the bright streak of colour twisting snake-like through the closed-off roads. Some groups were chanting, but the rhythms didn’t catch on beyond a few hundred people. Somewhere at the back, _YMCA_ played from a boombox, motioned by the masses with bold arms, infinitely. The noise and energy was echoed by supporters who stood to the sides behind metal barriers, taking photos, offering high-fives.

The idea was that everyone in the procession wore one colour of the Pride flag, and together they’d make a rainbow. It turned out surprisingly accurate, despite the random tendencies of any crowd being told what to do.

Up front, the procession was led by people in scarlet body paint, red bikinis, maroon hijabs. After that came half a high school marching band, all dressed in fall colours, plus a flood of people wearing eye-wateringly orange construction-worker vests, which even the most flamboyant of folks would probably avoid wearing on any other non-work occasion. Then yellow, just the same.

Next came the green – lots of people wore leaves on their bodies, to represent the natural state of queerness, or however they wanted to see it. As a group, they looked like a shockingly overgrown hedgerow.

Blue was easy. It was by far the biggest section of the rainbow, as people opted for denim jean-jackets and navy blue work suits. That was where the folks marched when they had to get back to work in an hour.

And then, bringing up the rear was Dean Winchester, and about four hundred other people behind him. Even though there was no pink in the gay pride flag, some people in the purple section wore it shamelessly anyway, putting bubblegum speckles into the haze of lilac and plum.

Dean wore a dark purple t-shirt with a plaid overshirt rolled up to his elbows, and a plastic crown on his head. He waved the kind of flag one might find in a movie about princes and great battles with dragons – it was thick, ribbon-like, and tapered into a forked tail. Blue, purple, and pink, for bisexual pride. He had to keep it moving, sweeping it across the blue sky in mighty zig-zags, or it would fall limp and nobody would know he was here for a damn good reason.

Despite the elation, and the roar of excitement running in his veins, Dean still felt a little bit of annoyance. He wasn’t the sort of person to line up his M&Ms in colour order, or arrange the contents of his bookshelves by the shade of their spine – at least not permanently – but by God, he knew a sore thumb when he saw one sticking out. A purple horse trotted along amongst the hedgerow of people, and royal purple against lime green just looked _all_ wrong.

The animal was causing quite a stir further ahead. Even from where Dean was, a hundred feet back and surrounded by strangers wearing purple, he could see it past the banners and flags, because the thing _stood out_.

Seven feet tall, at least. Hell knew how many hands that was. Dean could measure its height by the length of his dick for all he cared – whoever rode that massive purple horse was messing up the rainbow.

Once Dean and his part of the crowd advanced past the good pizza shop and the out-of-business bookstore, the horse had fallen back. Ripples of blue cast a bubble around it, as people moved out of the way.

Now Dean could see clearly: the freak on the horse wore a pointy hat with a crooked spire, and actual _flowing robes_. The horse was not only painted purple, but had been draped in cloth, which Dean imagined to be embroidered finery, like a jousting knight showing off a family crest.

The folks in blue seemed to understand the problem. Dean, being taller than most people, could see over heads, and he saw crowd members pointing backwards, directing the guy on the horse to the rear of the parade.

The purple horse guy looked back, a concerned squint on his just-tanned face. His horse wavered as he pulled its reins, but rather than doing an about turn, the pair fell back a little more.

A little more.

Now Dean could see colourful ribbons braided into the horse’s dyed tail. The purple was patchy: the gigantic beast had been coloured in with powder paint, dusted on with a brush. Its sandy-yellow palomino pelt showed through, especially underneath its flicking tail.

As the horse’s back end met the divide between blue and purple, Dean had to stop waving his flag, in case he hit the rider in the head. This horse was a monster; it towered over Dean, and every other person. Dean sensed the crowd around him moving about as they changed position; some were scared of the horse and wanted to get away, others moved closer, interested.

Dean himself was just put out that he couldn’t wave his flag. He made the thing himself, alright, so he wanted to wave it.

“Hey, big guy,” Dean shouted, as the horse _finally_ aligned with the front line of violet. “Guy on the horse! What took you so long?”

The man on the horse looked down, searching for the source of the shout. His eyes lighted upon Dean – and after a moment of confusion, Dean brightened, and his heart somersaulted in his chest. “Hey,” he grinned, “it’s you.”

Castiel, the manager of the copy room at work, touched his fingers to the brim of his purple wizard’s hat and tipped it in greeting. His blue eyes wrinkled at the sides as he smiled. He replied something, but his mouth moved and Dean didn’t hear over the racket of the moving mass around them. Dean shook his head, waggling a finger at his ear.

Castiel glanced about him, then carefully swung his leg over his horse, robes following in a heavy swish as he hopped from the saddlecloth to the tarmac. He held onto his horse’s reins, leading it as he went to Dean’s side and walked alongside him.

“I didn’t know you were the sort to march in parades,” Castiel said, in that guttural, monotone way he always spoke.

Dean smirked. “I didn’t know the copy room guy was secretly a medieval wizard.”

Castiel laughed, bowing his head to his chest. “It’s an alter ego, I suppose.” He gazed thoughtfully at Dean, one dark eyebrow rising. His gaze flicked from the glitter on Dean’s cheeks, to the golden costume crown on his head, to the wooden pole he held – then up to the lazy flag, with its wrinkled stitching and gold satin edges. “It seems we _both_ have an alter ego.”

“Who, me?” Dean scoffed. “Nah. I’m out, I just don’t talk about it at work. I got nothin’ to hide – but c’mon, what comes up relevant in a conversation about ad revenue?”

Castiel nodded knowingly. He seemed about to speak, but instead lifted his wizard’s hat from his head, replacing it while his lips remained parted, eyes roaming. “Dean,” he began, “can I ask you a question?”

Dean felt a flutter of anticipation. After three years of small-talk at the water cooler and the hallway vending machine, psyching himself up to ask the guy out, maybe Cas would be the first to make a move. Where better than the Pride parade?

But when Dean said, “Go for it,” Castiel asked a very different sort of question.

“What colour is this to you?” He lifted the dangling sleeve of his costume robe, showing it to Dean in his palm.

Dean furrowed his brow. “Uh. Purple. Why?”

Castiel’s face cleared of curiosity, replaced by a bothered squint. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

Castiel let out a small sigh, then looked at Dean carefully. “I joined the parade at the front. I wanted to be the grey part of the asexual flag, but I got here and found out we were only doing the rainbow flag—”

“Tell me about it,” Dean grumbled. “Guess why I spent every evening last week putting this thing together,” he said, tapping the base of the flag on his boot as he kicked along.

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “Obviously Shadowfax here is somewhat conspicuous,” he said, patting the horse’s front flank. “And I wore grey, rather than a bright colour, so there was no hope of blending in. So I thought I should either be at the front or at the back so as not to mess up the spectrum.”

“So what happened?” Dean asked, baffled as to where Castiel had acquired a full-colour outfit and horse paint since he showed up.

Castiel seemed as confused as Dean. “I don’t really know. I joined by the yellow, and they insisted I go to the back rather than the front. Every colour I passed, people kept jeering at me, saying I belong with the purple. But I’m – grey?” He looked down at himself, frowning. “I am grey. It’s grey.” He looked at the scrunched robes in his hands and nodded. He looked at his horse, and nodded. “Almost white.”

Dean snuffled a laugh, looking at Castiel in amazement. “You sound pretty convinced.”

“I am,” Castiel said, touching the dusty horse, then looking at the purple smear on his fingertips. “Definitely not purple. I came dressed as Gandalf. Sans the beard, I mean; it was too itchy.”

“Uh,” Dean said. “Okay.”

Castiel tensed his jaw and looked at Dean again. “Tell me it’s grey.”

Dean managed a wonky smile. “Totally.”

Surprised, Castiel’s eyes lowered to Dean’s freckled nose, then back to his eyes. “It’s not grey, is it? No! No, it has to be. My brother helped me apply the pigment on Shadowfax’s coat, he helped me braid her mane! He was with me when I went to the fabric store...”

Dean reached to touch Castiel’s arm gently, trying to soothe an uneasy man. “Hey – dude, it’s cool. You’re right at home here, okay? Us purples got your back.”

Castiel scowled. He looked again at the horse, and his clothes, then took off his hat and stared at it.

“Cas?” Dean said, waiting until Castiel replaced his hat and turned his pretty face so their eyes met. Dean gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re probably colourblind. These things are genetic, your brother’s most likely colourblind too.”

The statement didn’t rattle Castiel; presumably he’d heard those words before. “I would know if that were true,” he said sternly. “I’ve lived three decades on this planet, two decades of which I’ve had a brother correcting my colour choices; I think I’d realise if everything looked wrong.”

“You might not,” Dean said kindly. “Brains are weird, y’know? You see it different and you think you’re seeing it perfect.”

Now radiating annoyance and dismay, Castiel sulked as he walked along, one fist tight around the sagging reins. “I’m a tritanope. Meaning I see everything in shades of red, turquoise or grey, and I can’t tell the difference between a dark purple and a neutral grey. I _know_ I’m colourblind. I just didn’t think my brother would want to ruin _this_ for me. My other sibling is standoffish, to say the least, but at least they have some human _decency_.”

“Purple’s still on the asexual flag,” Dean offered. “It’s not so bad, y’know? It’s not like you’re an accidental shill for some other group you’re not part of.”

“Hm,” Castiel nodded, but a tiny frown gave away the fact he was still upset.

“Think about it this way,” Dean said, grinning, “No _wonder_ you’re so good at working the copy machines at work. No colour required. ‘Cause our corporate giant is run by cheapskates and there’s no colour ink on the whole damn premises.”

Thankfully, that did cheer Castiel up a bit.

“You’re a monochrome magician,” Dean said, bumping Castiel on the arm with a friendly fist. “The purple’s cool, anyway. Pretend you came as Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore’s gay,” Castiel remarked. “I’m Gandalf.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “As in... asexual,” he uttered. His grip wavered around his heavy flag, and he licked his lips. “So you’re not... into anyone?”

Castiel shook his head. “Not in the sexual way.”

“Oh,” Dean said, trying to keep his heart from dropping to his feet. That was okay. It was fine. He hadn’t known. His lowkey three-year crush had been basically one-sided this whole time, so it wasn’t a huge difference if things were always going to stay that way.

Except it _was_ a huge difference, because Dean had fantasised about asking Cas out, on some future day when he left his job, and he’d expected to end up naked in his bed _eventually_. He’d even fantasised about quitting for the sole _reason_ of asking Cas out, so as not to create some kind of job-relationship conflict. Like hell he was going to hit on him at _work_. Bumping uglies in the copy room was an activity reserved for people who didn’t care about getting fired.

Damn trying to be an upstanding employee. At least if he’d _known_ three years ago that Cas wasn’t into guys – or anyone, for that matter – Dean wouldn’t have had to be so flustered and shy and _nervous_ around him. All this time, he’d been sweating through his palms and soggying the printouts he needed copied. Feeling heart flutters every time they rode the elevator down together. Going home with a goofy smile imprinted on his face ‘cause Cas tried and failed to give him a fistbump when Dean refilled the coffee pot when he was supposed to.

Aw, man. Dean had really, really, _really_ wanted to ask Cas out.

Ugh, he’d been so sure Cas liked him back, too! The guy must’ve just been being polite. Maybe he was shy, and easily flustered by smiles. Maybe he just liked to stare. And Dean had mistaken easygoing banter and extended unbroken eye contact for attraction. _Dammit._

Even so, Dean was probably being rude, mourning because someone else had an incompatible sexual orientation. This was a freaking _Pride_ parade – they were here to celebrate their differences, not to pair up and get laid. Cas had just _come out_ to Dean, it was just bad manners to complain because it didn’t suit _Dean_.

So Dean offered Castiel the most genuine smile he could muster, and said, “Go aces, huh?”

Castiel smirked. “Go aces.”

Castiel then placed both his hands on Shadowfax’s back, and with a hefty push, he climbed back onto his horse in an elegant swoop. He got comfortable on her saddle-less back, then looked down at Dean. He saw Dean looking back, and gave him a smile – then offered a hand.

Dean stared at the proffered hand, expecting to be shown something. It was empty.

Castiel clarified, beckoning upwards.

Dean baulked. “You want me to get _on_ that thing?”

Castiel shrugged. Again, his words were lost to the rowdy ambience, but he comprehended Dean’s alarm. Dean could just about read his lips as he shouted, “ _It’s safe!_ ”

Trying not to look like a scaredy-cat, Dean stowed his fear and took Castiel’s hand. He scurried alongside for a while, because it wasn’t exactly easy to mount a moving horse without stirrups, even if they were dawdling along – and the feat was made even harder by the absolute _size_ of the thing. The top of Dean’s head barely levelled with its chin.

Eventually Castiel gave Dean’s wrist an encouraging tug, and Dean switched his flag to his left hand, rested that arm over Shadowfax’s back, then _heaved_ himself up with Castiel’s help. All those hours he’d spent at the men’s health club finally paid off: he could lift his body weight without looking too much like he was struggling. With a thump of his butt to a jersey-blanket saddlecloth, Dean grinned. He’d mounted a horse the size of a car, and he felt his inner thighs, butt, and stomach getting a workout already, tensing to keep him steady.

“Put your arms around me,” Castiel instructed, pulling Dean’s right hand to his middle. “Don’t fall off. It’s a long way to fall.”

Beaming, Dean hugged Castiel with his heart a-thumping in his throat. Cas was warm and sturdy under the robes; his muscular shape was obvious once Dean pressed his fingers against the fabric. Dean’s crotch pressed Castiel’s backside, bumping gently as the horse’s gait had him shift by an inch every step.

Castiel turned halfway at the waist, looking for something – he smiled as he saw Dean still held his flagpole. Castiel reached for it with his left hand, and he began to wave it. Dean helped, laughing as he realised what a picture they must make. A wizard and a prince, atop a towering steed of royal purple, waving the flag of Dean’s people. The crowds cheered around them, marching alongside. Dean had never felt so magnificent in his life. He hoped people in the crowd were taking photos, because he wanted this moment framed.

It only got better: from a handmade saddlebag beside Castiel’s knee, Castiel pulled an asexual flag too: black, grey, white, and purple. He waved that with his right hand, while helping Dean wave his own flag with his left.

Suddenly Castiel laughed in elation, head falling back to bump Dean’s. Dean nuzzled his neck to push him back upright. From the prickles of blood in the tips of his ears, to the curl of his toes inside his boots, Dean’s whole body sang with joy.

The procession marched, and chanted, and danced, parading through the streets in a lavish show of group solidarity. From way up high, Dean saw flags of every colour, dozens for every gender and sexuality and progressive social stance there was to take. Confetti rained down from the city buildings above, shot from cannons in apartment windows. Dean looked up and saw people watching from balconies, a news station helicopter circling with its side rolled open, a camera presumably pointed at the parade.

Castiel slid his hand down Dean’s flagpole to hold his knuckles, giving him a slight squeeze. Dean could not squeeze back with that hand, so squeezed with the other, giving Castiel a hug.

Dean felt Cas shake with laughter, and he could only grin in reply.

··· ♥ ···

All good things had to end eventually. But this particular good thing went on without them, and Dean was happy to let it. As beautiful at the moment had been, it was tiring to ride a horse without prior practise, and now his throat was sore from all the cheering.

They rode their horse away from the echoing masses, taking a side street. Peace reigned here. Confetti was strewn on the tarmac and the sidewalk, blown around by the slight breeze. Colours swept into rainbow eddies, chasing Shadowfax’s gradual clop, clop, clop.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, smiling as he saw a little girl watch them pass, grinning madly. Her ice cream melted down her fingers, so enamoured by the sight of a purple horse than she’d forgotten to lick the drips.

“I need some coffee,” Castiel said, rolling his shoulders back. “Crowds are fascinating when you want to watch people, but my God, they’re exhausting. Shadowfax did excellently today, didn’t you, girl?” He patted her shoulder boldly. “She has such a wonderful temperament. She’s never been scared by crowds; I’ve been taking her to renaissance faires since she was a filly so she got used to them.”

“You’re a renaissance faire guy? Like Moondoor? I heard that’s a thing. I’ve been meaning to check it out. Charlie keeps on at me, says I oughta tag along with her sometime.”

Castiel rolled a shoulder. “Moondoor, yes. Guy, no.”

“What?”

Castiel breathed out a little, then turned to speak over his shoulder: “I’m agender.”

Dean’s mouth rounded into a small ‘o’. “So,” he said, before gulping unsurely. “So can I still call you ‘dude’? Or...?”

Castiel chuckled. “You call everyone ‘dude’. I’m happy to be your ‘dude’.”

A small, sparkly feeling crept up onto Dean’s cheeks. “Who says you’re _my_ dude?”

“Who says I’m not,” Castiel replied. Without a tone to indicate _anything_ , Dean was lost for a follow-up reply.

When in doubt, he supposed, it was safe to talk about the horse.

“Can I ask,” Dean grinned awkwardly, “where the hell do you keep Shadowfax here? ‘Cause, I mean, we’re miles from farmland.”

“She and I stayed overnight at my brother’s place in town, he has a backyard,” Castiel said. “But I transported her in her trailer from upstate yesterday. My stepmother looks after her. I’ve had her since well before I started my job at our office.”

“Yet you never talk about her,” Dean complained. “All our years bonding over vending machines and venn diagrams, and you never once mention you have a _horse_.”

“It never came up,” Castiel said. “What do you expect me to have said? Yes, I will give you a hundred copies of this badly-formatted cover letter, and by the way, I bought a horse so I could be more like my favourite fictional wizard? I never mentioned her for the same reason you never mentioned you’re bisexual. It doesn’t come up in a work-appropriate conversation.”

Dean pressed his lips together, eyes watching the shop fronts they passed. Flower store, video rental place, dry-cleaners. “Guess we’d talk more if we saw each other out of work, huh.”

“I suppose we would,” Castiel replied, somewhat neutrally. Dean couldn’t tell what he thought of the idea.

“Ah, coffee,” Castiel announced, leading the horse towards a store that looked suspiciously like Starbucks, but with a mustachioed walrus as the mascot. “This is where my family is meeting me. Dismount, if you please.”

Dean struggled. He got his leg over Shadowfax’s back, and one hand on Castiel’s thigh, but as Dean slipped down, the flagpole caught on the saddlecloth and his hand automatically gripped Castiel’s knee – and Castiel almost slid off too. Dean muttered apologies, helping Cas dismount properly. Castiel’s boots thumped down to the road, and Dean quickly brushed his robes down with careful hands.

“I’m all right, Dean,” Castiel said, taking both of Dean’s hands to still them. He smiled. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Dean parted his lips. “Take a guess.”

“Two sugars and cream.”

Dean winked. Castiel had berated him about not re-filling the coffee pot enough times to notice what Dean was putting into his mug while arguing back.

As Castiel led the way to the shop, Dean pulled out his cellphone and texted Sam, telling him where to meet him. _Head to that weird walrus coffee place with the tables outside. I’m with Cas, so BE COOL. Activate the plan! I’ll order for you._

“Your brother?” Castiel guessed.

Dean nodded, cocking half a grin. “Sammy was watching the parade, somewhere,” he said, tucking his phone away. “He must’ve seen us up there, riding your horse. Half the city probably saw us. If I know my brother at all, he probably followed along at the side.”

“My siblings were there too,” Castiel said, opening the coffee shop door for Dean, allowing the bitter bean scent to wash over them both. Dean entered, setting boot-tread on polished dark wood, and Castiel followed. “Come on, Shadowfax.”

Dean bristled with alarm. “What? Cas— Wait, you can’t—”

Shadowfax entered the coffee shop in unsure hoofsteps, soft nose wriggling, head turning to check out the dark brick walls and stunned customers in tables at the sides.

Dean gaped. “Dude. You can’t bring a horse into the coffee shop. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your ride has gotta wait _out_ side.”

Castiel squinted. “But where am I meant to park her? There’s no bike racks to tie her to.”

“If you didn’t know where to park her you shouldn’t have brought a _horse_ ,” Dean whispered, eyes darting nervously to the other people in the shop. A fat, bald fellow stared with his mouth open, having forgotten about his reading book, and a berry muffin in his hand.

With a shrug, Castiel led Shadowfax further into the shop, approaching the glass barrier between them and the baked goods. “Maybe nobody will notice,” he reasoned.

Dean spread his hands in flabbergasted speechlessness, gesturing at the beast. “It— It’s _purple_!”

The front door of the coffee shop opened again, and in walked Charlie Bradbury, a close friend of Dean’s. Right behind her came Dean’s younger brother, Sam. They took one look at the horse, and turned to leave again, probably thinking they had the wrong place.

“Sam!” Dean called, leaning past the horse to wave. “I haven’t ordered yet, you want something?”

Sam approached with caution, slipping a hot pink ribbon undone from around his neck. “Uh,” he said, eyes on the horse’s butt. “Yeah.”

Dean looked at Sam’s clothes in confusion. “Didn’t you leave the house in _orange_ plaid? Grey windbreaker?” Sam’s blue jeans were all Dean recognised – he’d never seen that yellow plaid shirt in his _life_.

Sam gulped, looking down at himself. “Um. I figured I should join the parade after all.”

Charlie grinned and gave Sam a friendly nudge in the side. She wore a red 80s-vintage t-shirt and lipstick, and had been marching up front with a bunch of other lesbians she’d met in the library. She and Sam glanced at each other a bit too knowingly...

Dean’s perplexion fell away, and he put two and two together. “Yellow, pink and blue – what’s that, pansexual?”

Sam rolled a shoulder, bunching up one side of his bob.

Dean gave him a big ol’ grin. “Welcome to the outside of the closet. We got purple horses, apparently.” He patted Shadowfax, then glanced at his hand and wiped the purple residue down his t-shirt.

Castiel stood against Dean’s side, shoulder-to-shoulder with both him and the horse (who was busy examining the pastries). “Hello,” Castiel said to the others. “I’m Castiel. You must be Charlie and Sam.”

Charlie adjusted her thick glasses, giving Castiel a once-over. “You must be the crush Dean warned us about. He didn’t warn us about your horse, though. Wow, it’s a big ‘un.”

Castiel seemed baffled. “Crush?”

“Uh,” Dean flashed him a grin. “Charlie’s idea of a joke. They like to mess with me, you know how it is. Siblings.”

“Right,” Castiel said, peering thoughtfully into Dean’s eyes.

Dean turned his head, becoming aware of a frantic whispering from behind him. As Sam stepped forward, asking Castiel about his equine companion, Dean set his attention on the coffee shop staff member behind the checkout divider. The teenager’s lips pressed to the receiver of a telephone, forehead wrinkled. “ _Sir, no, an actual horse! A real, live, farm animal. It’s massive._ ” A pause, in which sweat beaded on the barista’s temples. “ _No, sir. It’s purple, sir._ ”

Dean smirked, though he did feel sorry for the kid.

“ _I could ask them to leave, sir?_ ” The kid looked up, eyes darting around as new customers entered the store. “ _Six, sir, not including the horse._ ” She breathed unsteadily, then wheezed, “ _I don’t think it’s a service animal— No, I’m not making it up! Y-You want me to serve them—?! But—_ ”

Dragging in a deep breath, the kid nodded. “ _Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Of course, sir._ ”

She hung up the phone in a shaky, resigned sort of way. She wiped her face with the folded shirtsleeve of her inner elbow, then put on a professional smile, directing it at Dean. “Whenever you’re ready to order, sir,” she said, weakly.

Dean grinned, then turned back – only to realise two strangers had joined their group. One short, chubby white guy with a bristly golden beard had thrown an arm over Castiel’s shoulders, his clothes and hair a mish-mash of colours, his mouth occupied with a lollipop. Another person with a frowny kind of presence lingered by their side, oak-brown skin in extreme contrast to the pastel pink and blue they wore. Dean wasn’t certain of their gender – they seemed to be a little of everything.

“Hi,” Dean said, offering the frowny figure a hand to shake. “Dean Winchester.”

“Raphael,” Raphael said in a slow, disdainful voice.

“Gabriel,” said the chubby one, popping the sucker from his mouth, pushing a fist against Dean’s. “So _you’re_ the vending-machine prettyboy Cas has been fawning over for years.”

Dean’s mouth slid open, a flush of interest sparkling through him. “Uh.”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Castiel snarled through bared teeth, stomping hard on Gabriel’s foot. “You draped yourself in my colours for _nothing_ , you ass.”

“Hey, I’m supporting you, I’m _supporting_ you—! Princess here didn’t even know you like-liked him, did he?”

No, Dean hadn’t, not really. Now he did. Tummy butterflies swarmed into a mushroom cloud inside him, all rising in rainbow colours.

Breathlessness aside, Dean desperately tried to focus on the people before him so he wouldn’t be caught short when they struck up conversation. He finally registered that Gabriel was dressed in the colours of the asexual flag, from his black pants to his grey-and-white striped shirt, to the purple scarf slipping through his belt loops. But his hair was sprayed pastel pink and blue, matching the outfit Raphael has chosen.

“Sooo...” Dean looked between Raphael and Gabriel, then at Cas, narrowing his eyes. “Are you three... related? Or—?”

“We have the same step-mother,” Raphael said curtly. “Thankfully I have no blood relation to these imbeciles.”

Dean grinned, turning his amusement to Castiel. Castiel simply rolled his eyes, adjusting his wizard’s hat with a hand.

The horse shifted beside them all, clip-clopping around in place so she could see their faces. With a rumbling snort, she nosed Castiel in the arm.

“All right, Shadow, in a minute,” Castiel said to her, placing a hand on her nose. “I need to know Dean’s family’s coffee preferences beforehand so we don’t confuse the barista.”

Dean snickered. “I think your horse already did that,” he said, making Sam chuckle. “Sammy here takes a large decaf with a caramel shot. Charlie, small soy latte.”

Castiel nodded, then eased through their loitering congregation to approach the cash machine, where the barista waited, her eyes haunted.

In a forthright rumble, Castiel listed, “One medium black coffee with two sugars; one macchiato; three small soy lattes; one large decaf with a caramel shot – and ten apples, please.”

“Apples,” the barista echoed.

“Yes,” Castiel said, reaching for a wallet out his purple saddlebag.

The barista checked the fruit bowl for apples, then smiled. “I-I’ll have to look in the back, sir.”

“Thank you.” Castiel offered his credit card.

The horse whinnied, headbutting Castiel between the shoulder blades. With a sigh, Castiel added to the barista, “Make two of those soy lattes to go, please. And the macchiato. I’ll take the apples in a bag. Castiel swiped his card, then turned to stroke ribbons out of Shadowfax’s face. “You need to go home, don’t you? It’s okay, we won’t be long.”

Dean grinned at Castiel as their eyes met. “You’re that barista’s worst nightmare, Cas.”

“He’s _everyone’s_ worst nightmare,” Raphael uttered behind Dean.

“I dunno about that,” Dean grinned lopsidedly, sneaking his hands into his pockets. “You seem like kind of a dreamboat to me.”

Castiel flushed. “Hmhh.”

Dean cackled. “Dude, you’ve gone pink.”

Castiel blushed even harder. But then he seemed startled, and a stormcloud descended across his face. “Oh,” he said darkly, “that reminds me.” He turned his fiery blue eyes on Gabriel. “I am _not_ wearing grey. I’m wearing _that exact shade of purple I can’t see properly_.”

Gabriel’s playful grin became almost dastardly. “Psych!” he yelped, only to be swiped at by Castiel’s clawed hand. “Heyyy, what’s the problem? Who _wouldn’t_ take every opportunity to mess with an overly-trusting colourblind sibling, huh?”

Dean frowned. “The hell kind of practical joke _is_ that?”

Gabriel raised one sharp eyebrow. “For Cas? The best kind. His sense of humor’s borderline inaccessible. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s _completely_ serious about the horse.”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. He laughed at my Froot Loops joke on Friday.”

Castiel hum-hum-humm’d like freakin’ Winnie-the-Pooh, amused at the memory: Dean with his hand groping blindly in the vending machine tray, trying to dig out a mini cereal box as he spoke. “ _My brother Sam’s like Toucan Sam from the Froot Loops packet, but he’s got a nose for salad instead of cereal. He goes around sniffin’ out organic lettuce like nobody’s business._ ”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You’ll laugh at _his_ stupid jokes?”

“I find him amusing,” Castiel muttered, looking fondly at Dean. Dean smirked back.

The oppressive sound of the bean grinder blotted out their thoughts, so conversation became next to impossible. But while Sam struggled through a chat with Raphael, Shadowfax contemplated nibbling Dean’s left ear, and Charlie gleefully accepted foreign candy from Gabriel, Dean and Castiel shared a long, quiet moment.

They held each other’s eyes, smiling helplessly.

Dean felt like a pink marshmallow, softening under the advance of sunshine. Cas was radiant in purple, and even though it wasn’t the costume he thought he’d come in, it was easily a step up from the mis-buttoned dress shirt and backwards tie he wore at work. This was Castiel relaxed, unflustered by fifteen malfunctioning copiers and a paper jam, unstressed by the ticking clock.

Castiel and Dean were only distracted away from each other as Shadowfax full-on _neighed_ , teeth showing in a fearsome whinny.

“Hush,” Castiel eased her with a stroking hand, smearing a purple stain down her sandy-yellow forehead. “Two minutes, my love.”

Dean had become decidedly gooey in the chest region. Asexuality aside, the copy room wizard was still doing a significant amount of _something_ to Dean’s heart. Dean wanted to date the _heck_ out of him. Seriously.

Mid-way through drawing in a breath, Dean was interrupted by the barista lining up coffee orders on the collection desk. “Two soy lattes and one latte macchiato to go! One more soy latte! One decaf, caramel shot. Black coffee, two sugars! Bag of apples!”

With the back of her hand swiped across her forehead, the barista started to grin.

Dean pulled out his wallet and tipped her with everything he had. He gave her a wink, glad to see her smile properly.

Sam handed out the coffees, while Charlie opened the bag of apples – and with Castiel’s direction, allowed Shadowfax to munch one right out of her hand, juice spritzing out as the horse chewed. Charlie made a gleeful noise, then pulled out her cellphone to take a photo.

“We’d better get going,” Castiel said, giving Dean a regretful look, watching him pour creamer into his drink. “Thank you so much for your company today, Dean.” He touched Dean’s arm, already pulling back. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Waitwait— Fist bump.”

They fistbumped. Castiel grinned, delighted he did it right. He turned away, still grinning.

Dean took two consecutive breaths, aching to blurt out some words, some words that could make Castiel agree to see him again outside of work, but the words didn’t arrive on Dean’s tongue, and he could only wave, watching Castiel lead his two mismatched siblings and the purple horse back out of the coffee shop.

Dean looked down, and saw there were dents from Shadowfax’s horse shoes embedded in the wooden flooring, along with the pocks of stiletto heels and the black rubber scuffs of people’s sneakers.

Letting go of a breath, Dean wandered in a blurry haze towards Sam and Charlie, who’d taken seats at a table. The rest of the shop was empty now; people had left without Dean noticing.

“You okay?” Charlie asked, seeing Dean’s face. “You look a little shellshocked.”

Dean forced up a wonky grin as he sat down, gently placing his coffee saucer down. “Yeah. Purple horse in a coffee shop will do that to you.”

Charlie glanced at Sam, then said, gently, “We didn’t go too heavy-handed with the hints, did we? You did _say_ , in the event that we’re around the copy room guy, lay it on thick. Right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Nah, was fine. I think he got the message.” He hesitated, then said, “He’s not a guy, though. Just a... person.”

“He— They? They’re nonbinary?” Charlie asked.

Dean shrugged, dragging up a sideways smile. “We came out to each other a bunch’a times today, half-dozen different revelations between us. It’s crazy how much personal shit we never talked about, huh.”

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just tell Cas before,” Sam said, rolling up the sleeves of his checkered yellow shirt. “Work relationship or not, I find it weird that you’d rely on _us_ to blurt out your deepest feelings.”

Dean shrugged. “I can talk to him about printer mechanisms and electric wires for hours on end, but as soon as it gets personal – I dunno, I just... lock up.”

“You seemed to do fine today,” Charlie said, confused. “You weren’t even nervous.”

Dean grinned, chuckling with his eyes down on the table. He wrapped his hands around his hot coffee mug, and admitted, “Yeah, it’s funny, huh. You know what? I think it was the horse,” he realised, raising his eyebrows. “Talk about an icebreaker! Your crush comes dressed as a freaking asexual wizard, you get personal real quick.”

With a sly, contented smile, Dean sipped his coffee (hm, decent enough), and he vowed to himself that tomorrow, he’d skip the small talk and get right to the core of the matter. Dean had a heart bursting with _feelings_ for his colourblind co-worker, and after three years of deliberation, he was finally going to _do_ something about it.

··· ♥ ···

The elevator doors clacked open, and Dean immediately knew something was afoot.

The janitor paused while screwing in a lightbulb, staring at Dean as he walked down the hall. Dean muttered a greeting, only to receive silence in reply.

Once into the office, Dean heard laughter fall silent, four pairs of co-workers’ wide eyes turned his way, like he’d disturbed a nest of rodents. At once, they all looked down and giggled some more, disbanding in a skittish manner.

Dean made his way to his cubicle and pulled out his wheely chair. He hung his suit jacket over the back, rolled up his shirt sleeves, swept his tie against his front and sat down—

There was a photo taped to his computer screen.

Him. Cas. A purple horse.

Dean took the photo in his hands, smiling. The bisexual flag waved proudly over their heads, the asexual flag just visible on the saddlecloth past their dangling legs. The crowd was blurry; someone had taken a photo with them as the focus. Dean could see himself grinning, his joy shown by the wrinkles around his eyes and the creases beside his mouth. And Castiel, he wore a grin stretching practically ear-to-ear. Shadowfax herself shook her head, and the ribbons in her hair flailed in swift arcs around her, frozen in the image as if gravity had no hold on them.

Dean didn’t know who taped this photo here. It certainly hadn’t been printed in this office building, as they had no colour printers. Lifting his head up past his cubicle divider, Dean looked around, feeling like a suspicious meerkat. Ten people were looking his way. Ten people immediately stopped looking his way.

Okay.

Okay, so it was a conspiracy.

Trying to focus on his job, Dean set the photo aside, turning on his computer monitor. His eyes lingered on the photo though...

As he turned to the screen, his jaw dropped.

Someone had logged in as a guest already, and opened up a browser window. Front page of the city’s online newspaper— That was them. That was _him_. That was _Cas_. That was _their_ purple horse!

Dean skim-read the article, heart thumping. _Pride parade, celebration of diversity, this city is honoured to be part of..._ blah blah blah, Dean was too excited to pay attention. He covered his face with both his hands, wheezing as he grinned and laughed at the same time.

All right. This was too much, there was no way Dean was getting any work done for at least ten minutes. He needed to go see Cas. All night he’d psyched himself up to visit the copy room during his morning break, but the desire was too pressing now he’d seen this. He couldn’t wait three hours. So he got up, taking the photo with tape still attached. He checked the back pocket of his pants, making sure he felt the smooth padding of the handmade greeting card he’d brought from home. All set.

He left his cubicle, giving his curious co-workers a big smile as he passed them.

“Morning,” he said to them. “Thanks for the update, guys. If anyone needs me, I’ll, uh... I’ll be in the copy room.”

He grinned as a few people gave him a smattering of applause, a few wolf whistles. He rolled his eyes and left the room.

That was settled. He had the support of his co-workers. Any on-the-job affiliation ought to look perfectly innocent in the eyes of the big boss; Dean could be with Cas _and_ keep his job.

“Hi again, Bill,” Dean uttered to the janitor, on his way to the elevator.

“You see it yet?” Bill asked.

Dean waved his photo. “Sure did.”

He pressed the elevator button for the third floor, where the copy room resided.

“Not the news article,” said Bill, as the elevator doors closed. “I meant—”

Dean stared at the mirrored doors, feeling his insides lurch as the elevator descended. What the hell. What the hell was he in for, now?

Seventh floor. Sixth floor. The jitters began. Dean adjusted his lilac collar in the mirror, loosening and straightening his purple tie. He blew out a breath through narrowed lips, then took one more look at the photo.

He couldn’t help but smile. Past-Dean and past-Cas just looked so... happy. The elation of that moment on horseback had barely waned since yesterday. Dean had slept fitfully, his mind too colourful and his thoughts too provocative. He wanted, needed, _craved_ to make a change after all these years of holding back.

Wish fulfillment was only a few moments away, now.

Third floor. The doors rolled open, and Dean stepped out.

Apparently waiting for the elevator, Castiel stood there in front of Dean, wearing a backwards purple tie, staring at a different photo of the same parade, this one a close-up of their faces from in front. Castiel glanced up, and met Dean’s eyes. He didn’t seem surprised to see him there.

Quietly, Castiel said, “I always thought your eyes were grey. I’d see stormclouds and think of you. But the caption under the photo describes you as a ‘green-eyed parader’ since the reporter didn’t know your name.”

Dean’s grin lifted high up one side of his face. The elevator doors tried to close, but retracted since Dean was still in the way. “I’m more of a forest than a storm, if you wanna get poetic about it.”

Castiel looked carefully at Dean’s eyes, and the contact only made Dean flush from head to heart, then lower. All of him became iridescent and gleaming.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Castiel said softly, tilting his head a bit. “Even if your eyes are the wrong colour.”

Dean laughed, ducking his chin as he was overcome with shyness. “Thanks,” he gulped, trying to regain his composure. “You too. I mean, your eyes aren’t the wrong colour, but— Look— I... um. I made you... something.”

Out of his back pocket he pulled a card, now curved from the shape of his ass. He flattened the warm cardstock, then presented it to Castiel with both hands.

Castiel took it slowly, a dent of curiosity appearing between his eyebrows.

He opened the card, and a smile _burst_ into existence on his face.

Dean had written in red pen, because as a tritanope, red was one of the few colours Castiel could see with close-to-true pigment. Dean had shaped his words out of round blobs, like the kind found on colour blindness tests. All around his question, he’d filled the space with purple blobs, all of it fitting in a circle. Of course, the purple greyed out in Castiel’s eyes, so the red was incredibly prominent.

_Hey, Cas. Wanna get coffee sometime?_  
_ (As a date.) _

Castiel laughed, skin crinkling up beside his eyes, a massive gummy grin pushing up his cheeks. His eyes shone with light as he looked back at Dean. “Before I answer,” Castiel smiled, voice deeper than usual, “let me show you something. Come with me, Dean.”

He turned away, heading towards the copy room where he spent most of his work hours.

Dean followed, a static thrill shocking his heart every time it beat.

Castiel paused at the door to the copy room, and offered a hand. He took Dean’s fingers, sliding his grip up so they held on properly. Then, with a smirk, Castiel led Dean inside.

The copy room was usually warm and dimly lit, humming with the electric charge of computer servers and printers that could spit out a thousand sheets in five minutes.

But today it was bright, as all the lights were on. Every available wall and printer side was tacked with printouts, with four or five big letters on each horizontal sheet.

Black, 150pt, typeset in Elephant.

Dean didn’t know where to look first; letters were everywhere and he was floating inside a can of lukewarm alphabet spaghetti, cowering under the threat of papercuts. But as Castiel gestured to the top left of the room, Dean began to read, as if the room was a single page.

_Hello, Dean. I enjoyed yesterday very much. But more so, I’ve enjoyed the three years of mutual friendship leading up to that day, which made your company even more appreciated. I would be honoured if we could continue our affiliation in a private romantic setting. Perhaps over coffee? – Castiel._

“Amazing,” Dean whispered, dazed by the gesture. It took a few seconds before he could think clearly. “Uh... Cas? Not that I don’t love it, but couldn’t you have just... written me a letter? To save paper?”

“I had a ream of scrap paper and several printer tests to do,” Castiel reasoned. He shifted, looking down at their joined hands. “I was under the impression that when one woos a potential mate, bold and lavish is the way to go.”

“You’re bold and lavish in every department,” Dean remarked, remembering the _horse_ , firstly – then the generally explosive way Castiel entered rooms when he was fired up. “Guess it’s not like papering a wall instead of sending a text is an unusual thing for you.” Dean’s eyes went to the card he’d made. “But you got me beat for grand gestures, that’s for sure.”

Castiel looked at the card in surprise. “I wasn’t aware we were in competition,” he said, folding up the card with love in his hands, then tucking it into his own back pocket to keep. He turned to Dean fully, eyes on his chin, then his lips, then up to his eyes. “I suppose this is no longer a question of whether we _will_ get coffee, but instead a question of _when_.”

“I got a break coming up at eleven,” Dean smiled. “That walrus place ain’t too far from here.”

Castiel leaned in and gave Dean a small, chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’ll pick you up in the foyer.”

Dean stepped forward to catch Cas before he could turn away. Grinning, he gave the world’s cutest copy room manager a kiss right back, feeling unshaven bristles under his lips. “Lookin’ forward to it, oh mighty wizard.”

With a satisfied smile, Castiel replied, “Date’s on me. My purple prince.”

Okay, Dean screwed up his face at that. But Castiel laughed, and Dean couldn’t resist one more smile.

Or two more.

Or a dozen...

It began with a coffee date. Then another. One every day for the rest of that week.

With the weekend came a trip upstate to visit Shadowfax in her field. Of course, Dean brought apples, and flowers for Cas’ stepmom.

The second weekend included a barbeque party with both their families happily in attendance. The third weekend, they watched movies on Dean’s couch and tossed white Skittles into each other’s mouths.

Dean wore purple every day at work. Castiel wore grey. Sometimes Cas wore purple, too – and he wore the shade proudly. It was their colour. It was on both their flags. Purple was the colour of their pride.

And though Castiel could not see the world the way Dean did, in full spectrum hues, he saw the best version of it anyway. He met unhappy people and saw they had room to grow; he met strangers and saw new friends. He met Dean every day for coffee, and he looked past the crumpled shirt and tired eyes, and he saw a prince.

From Castiel, Dean learned new perspectives aplenty, particularly on the subject of wizards. And horses. And, somewhat randomly, the joy of baking cakes. They talked about anything, so long as it wasn’t work.

“Moondoor on Saturday, right?” Dean asked, pulling two Twinkie bars out of the vending machine, handing one to Cas. “You going as purple Gandalf?”

Castiel took the proffered Twinkie, wearing a big smile as he shook his head. “I’m going as a brownish-blue Merlin.”

Dean hummed, shouldering Castiel affectionately. “I’ll be your Prince Arthur, how ‘bout that? I’ll wear the riding boots you bought me.”

“Magical,” Castiel agreed, unwrapping his snack. “Shadowfax and I will pick you up on your doorstep at eleven.” With that, he ate his Twinkie bar whole, gave Dean a kiss on the cheek with his mouth full, and happily went back to work.

Cas was wise. And considerate. And a little bit magic, at least when it came to refilling printer toner for cheap. There was no alter-ego. In costume, or out of it, on horseback or walking, it didn’t matter. Cas was a wizard _all_ the freaking time.

{the end!}

**Author's Note:**

> With this fic, I bypass 2 million words!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> [Art reblog (the one with the horse)!!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/163547207370/hello-friends-i-posted-a-new-fic-this-one-is)  
> [And here's a bunch of other Dean/Cas fics](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works), I post new stuff every month!  
> Peace and love to you allllll ♥


End file.
